


All Your Life

by 19thcenturyfox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Infidelity, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/19thcenturyfox/pseuds/19thcenturyfox
Summary: Anora and Loghain reunite in Gwaren to remember Celia. Excerpt from a work-in-progress.
Relationships: Celia Mac Tir/Loghain Mac Tir
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	All Your Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziskandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts).



Loghain’s every wrinkle shone in mirth as his daughter dismounted her horse. Squinting in the sunlight, he composed himself, strode forward and knelt. “Your majesty.”  
  
“That will be quite enough of that, father. Must I command you to embrace me?”  
  
He rose and hugged her tight. “Anora,” he breathed into her shoulder, briefly scrutinizing her retinue—the faces he knew inspired confidence. A step back. “It’s good to see you.”  
  
She smiled. “Walk with me.”  
  
They linked arms and strolled uphill. “How is Aedan?”  
  
“Oh, he’d make a model Prince Consort I suppose. Suitably unambitious.”  
  
“Hmph. Rare enough trait for a Cousland.” He looked away; once beyond sight of her guard, Loghain began crying. He had hoped not to, but there was no shame in it—they had been too long apart, and while they’d preached the virtue of public composure, the Mac Tir family never hid their emotions in private. “Anora I’m so very sorry...” he began.  
  
“We’re well past sorries, father. Anyway ‘twould be impolitic to have executed the Hero of River Dane.”  
  
He laughed and blinked away tears. “I don’t deserve you.”  
  
They paused to watch the golden light of sunset play upon the pines. “You staked your life on making hard choices for the good of the realm. Some of them were the wrong ones—” she shrugged, “such are the hazards of command.”  
  
Loghain let out a deep breath. ”And now that burden is yours. I hope my defeats paved the way to your victories.” _Did that sound bitter?_  
  
“Stuff your defeats, father” she huffed, “I need your Wardens to give me those victories.”  
  
 _But you no longer need me_ . The thought was reassuring. “You’ll have them,” he said.  
  
They walked in silence to the family crypt, where they spoke a long while of grief, joy, and duty alike. In the evening Anora departed for Gwaren town and Loghain lingered in the tomb. He closed his eyes and kissed the urn on its lid picturing the lips of his beloved, holding the memory of her face on his like a talisman against the night. “Celia,” he whispered, “Celia, you would be so proud.” Curling up beside her on the cold stone, he wept until sleep overcame him.  
  


* * *

  
  
He’s back at court. Before the expedition. In the Chancellery with the Nevarran emissary. She’s making eyes at him. “To our mutual benefit—” starts rubbing his thigh; he grabs her hand and moves it away. _Vulgar tricks, no doubt_ . What did Eamon say? Don’t stick your dick in the honeypot. _Something’s different..._  
  
Charts on the table. Tomorrow this will all be gone. Perhaps he’ll die at sea. _Will I not regret this?_ Still holding her hand. She kisses him; this time, he kisses back. "Maker," she murmurs as his cock stirs against her through his pants. He opens his eyes again to Rowan’s face. _No. No, this isn’t right._ The emissary frowns. “What’s wrong?”  
  
 _She’s so much younger_ . “I fear neither of us would respect me in the morning were I the kind of man to betray his wife.” No trickery in her eyes. He feels bad having used her in a moment of weakness.  
  
They apologize, set boundaries. Don’t want to ruin their working relationship. A professional friendship then. Calls her “Sister.”  
 _  
_She leaves. A booklet in his drawer: _Petit Traité sur le Bisou._ His Orlesian is rusty but he can make out the illustrations. The face is familiar... _Tomorrow this will all be gone_ . “Celia!”  
  
He runs. Great leaps and bounds, all the way south from Denerim by the blighted Brecilian Passage. At last he reaches the Teyrnhold; Celia stands in the doorway, pale and wan. The hall is blue with shadow. “Light of my life,” he cries, wrapping one hand around her waist and gripping the nape of her neck with the other. The world fades away. They kiss for hours.  
  
She accuses him of taking a mistress at court. White as a ghost: “I have not!”  
  
“Where did you learn that? You never used your teeth before!” _Not successfully, perhaps_ . Maker, has she forgotten? Feels like the first time again—feverish and earnest. Desperate. They kiss once more, coltishly jockeying for advantage on each other's lower lip.  
  
He pauses to brush a hair from her cheek. “Oh my heart, where have I been all your life?” Her eyes roll back.  
  
 _White as a ghost_ ... He’s dreaming. She turns to ashes in his arms and he screams into the empty black as sparks fall all around him like stars. Kneeling in the scorched remains, he knows everything will burn but him because he _is_ the fire.  
  
Tomorrow this will all be gone.

**Author's Note:**

> The "Nevarran emissary" is a whole-cloth fabrication. I would have liked to write more about Loghain and Rowan, but I haven't read the books so I'm not familiar with that canon.


End file.
